


House of Finwe - A sitcom

by protisvit



Series: Modern Mayhem [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Celegorm and Aredhel are a menace, Father-Son Relationship, Feanor caused a major diplomatic incident but I'm not telling you which one, Feanor loves to brag about his kids, Finarfin knows too much, Fingolfin tries to be a Good Dad and usually succeeds, Fingolfin uses reddit to overshare with the internet, Finwe and Mahtan have seen it all, Gen, Maglor is actually very talented but SOME people just don't appreciate it, Marriage proposals of a special kind, So does Nerdanel but she's more subtle about it, tags and characters will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protisvit/pseuds/protisvit
Summary: As the title suggest, my emotional support modern crack collection of oneshots, in which everything is (mostly) fun and games and nobody dies a horrible death.  CHAPTERS:2- My son and his step-cousin are a couple. How do I let them know it's okay? Fingon & Fingolfin (feat. a Reddit post)3- The fallout of Maedhros & Feanor  (aka "Coming out could be so easy if only one was an only child")4- A very Finwean Christmas (aka 'The whole family gets together, what could possibly go wrong')5- The exclusive celebration of being the eldest child (aka 'The drunken shenanigans of Finwe's eldest grandchildren.')6- A business proposal (aka Haleth and Caranthir have some news and Maglor a nervous breakdown.)
Relationships: Anairë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Caranthir | Morifinwë/Haleth of the Haladin, Eärwen/Finarfin | Arafinwë, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Finwë/Indis (Tolkien), Fëanor | Curufinwë & Sons of Fëanor, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Series: Modern Mayhem [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935262
Comments: 55
Kudos: 130





	1. Index

**1- Index**

**2- My son and his step-cousin are a couple. How do I let them know it's okay?** Fingon & Fingolfin (feat. a [Reddit post](https://www.reddit.com/r/relationship_advice/comments/fv7ec7/my_son_and_his_friend_are_a_couple_how_do_i_let/))

**3- The fallout of Maedhros & Feanor (aka "Coming out could be so easy if only one was an only child")**

**4- A very Finwean Christmas** (based on [this](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/alyruko/84296645436)) ~~so what if it's currently June time isn't real~~

 **5- The exclusive celebration of being the eldest child.** Maedhros, Maglor, Fingon and Finrod and some drunken shenanigans. 

**6-** **A business proposal**. Haleth/Caranthir ft. Maedhros & Maglor


	2. My son and his step-cousin are a couple. How do I let them know it's okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fingon’s best friend/step-cousin/totally-not-boyfriend is staying with him and his dad during quarantine.  
> They are definitely not a couple.  
> Fingolfin just wants them to know it’s okay.
> 
> Based on the iconic reddit ask. https://www.reddit.com/r/relationship_advice/comments/fv7ec7/my_son_and_his_friend_are_a_couple_how_do_i_let/

_Hello Reddit._

_Please bear with me regarding my formatting and things. I have read the rules and things, but I'm an old fart who is rather on the wrong side of 40 (Or is it 4000? Sometimes it feels like that haha) so I'm not overly well versed in the art of efficient internetting._

_My boy is 21 years old. He's absolutely my pride and joy, and there is nothing he could do that would ever make me love him less._

_He's everything a man could want his son to be; he's uniquely kind and fiercely loyal, he's unflinchingly brave, he's incredibly generous and, despite the Shakesperian horror that our extended family relations are, he's unfailingly positive and sunny to the last._

_Somehow I of all people was bestowed with the honour of watching him grow from a sweet young boy to the greatest man I have ever known. I cannot stress enough my pride in him. When he was 18, he got accepted into a top ranking university in the US (we are from the UK), that his best friend (and incidentally also step-cousin) attended as well. (I am stressing the step-cousin here, as in not actually, physically, blood related, for reasons that will become clearer later on.)_

_I was sad to see him go, but simultaneously overjoyed that he got into his first choice and was starting a new chapter in his life. Turns out, I did not have to be sad for long since, for professional reasons (And also familial reasons since these two are unfortunately very interwoven in this case and strongly involve my step-brother and his everlasting need to spite me for whatever possible reason. Also a diplomatic incident I am not legally allowed to disclose.) I was also relocated to the US for a few months. He comes to visit me here once every other month, and on the months he doesn't come home, I go to visit him. He's doing well in uni, has made lots of friends and seems incredibly happy there, which I'm obviously chuffed about._

_Since his second year, he's lived with his friend-and-step-cousin in a flat off-campus. Now I have to say, that I've strongly suspected since his early teens that my son is gay, and I now more or less have confirmation that this is true and that his "friend" (and cousin by marriage, not blood) is actually his boyfriend. So, for this COVID-19 faff, my son decided he'd rather come and quarantine at mine than stay at his uni flat, since none of us can go home to the UK at the moment._

_His (not actually genetically related) cousin, however, would be left alone if my son came back as he's also English and his (which I guess you could point out, is also my) family are back over there and, as my younger brother, who for some unknown reason knows everything about everyone, has told me, he had some kind of fallout with his father the last time he visited. Apparently it was about him seeing a boy, but if I know anything about my step-brother and if my theory is correct, the issue will not have been his son’s **sexual** identity but more likely, the **boyfriend’s** identity. But I am getting ahead of myself. _

_(Not that he would need to justify his decision to me. I, too would be… wary of being quarantined with my step-brother for the unforeseeable future. Not to mention the fact, that mentioned step-brother has 6 other children, 5 of which will be staying at home and and at least 2 of which might be partially insane. Probably the reason why my step-brother’s second eldest son - who for the standards of this family, is quite a reasonable chap - will also be staying at the conservatory he attends. Of course I also offered him to stay with us, but I must admit I am slightly relieved he declined. While he really is an inspired musician, he does tend to forget that, while his inspiration might never sleep, people really should. Especially at night. I do think he and his harp will enjoy having the flat to themselves.)_

_But to get back to my story:_

_My son asked if it would be okay if his “friend" (and coincidently the eldest son of my mother’s husband’s son) tagged along to my house and I said of course, no problem, because as it stands, I am not usually the one trying to tear this family apart._

_They've been back at mine for about six weeks now. They think they're being subtle I know, but I've caught them doing coupley things on several occasions now._

_The “friend” (and my adopted father’s first grandchild) has slipped up a couple of times and called my son 'babe' and 'sweetie' in front of me, which I pretended not to notice for the sake of saving embarrassment. There have been nights where we'll be watching a film with the lights off and, thinking I can't see, my son will have his arm around the “friend" (and not actually close relative, I cannot stress this enough). One day I walked into the lounge and I'm positive they'd just been kissing and were trying to cover it, though I admit I have no confirmation on that one._

_The most solid evidence, however, came a few mornings ago. I get up very early to go for runs in the morning (hence why I'm making a reddit post at five in the morning haha)._ _As far as I was told, my son was sleeping in his childhood room and his “cousin” was in the guest room. I don't know what possessed me to do so, but on Tuesday morning I cracked my son's door open to check on him like I used to when he was a kid. Lo and behold, they're both asleep, snuggled up together, in my son's bed. That's more or less solidified for me that they're together. I didn't say anything, just shut the door and went for my run, and I haven't mentioned it to them yet._

_What I want advice on is this; how do I let my son and his boyfriend know that I'm okay with them being a couple and they don't have to feel like they have to sneak around in my house? I want them to be comfortable here and I want them to know I support them both no matter what. Or is that not a good idea? Am I better off leaving it alone and waiting until they tell me themselves, if they ever do? I obviously don't want to force either of them out of the closet, but at the same time I hate feeling as if they feel like they're being forced into the closet in my house. What's my best course of action here??_

* * *

Fingolfin shifted on the couch.

Maedhros had just excused himself to take a bath and Fingon and himself had been left to pretend to watch an American Football game neither of them really cared about.

‘Was now a good time?’, he wondered, as a broad shouldered, V-chested all-American muscle boy picked up the red lemon-shaped ball and hurled it all over the field before being crushed by a couple of even musclier, even more V-chested all-American’s in perfectly bowling ball shaped helmets.

“Finno?”

“Hm?”

“I just- you know- you. I just wanted you to know-“

“Is everything alright, Dad?”

Well, here goes nothing.

“Finno, Son, I love you very much-“

“Oh God are you and Mum getting a divorce?”

“ _What?_ No! Of course not! Why would you- _no!_ ”

Fingon had the decency to look a bit sheepish, a pink tint darkening the tan skin around his nose.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Just…this whole situation of you being here and not going home and I know she wasn’t happy with how we handled…you know…Uncle Feanor’s thing… and now the whole waiting to catch me alone, starting with ‘Son, I love you’ … I guess I just kinda expected a ‘And your mother does too, but’ - speech.”

For a second Fingolfin was speechless. This was not what he had planned. At all. This was supposed to be a positive conversation.

“I- I didn’t realise you were worried about this.”

His son didn’t meet his eyes.

“I know it’s stupid, but I just- I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to seeing you two fight, that’s all. And then this whole work placement here and you going away- I was worried. I guess by coming here I just wanted to make sure you come back home again.”

This was terrible. This was worse than he thought. This was crossing onto thin ice over dangerously emotional depths. His son was distressed and it was his fault. How had he not seen that. God, why had he even said anything??

“Finno, Fingon, my dear Findekano, you really have the greatest heart out of all of us. Yes, I will not deny that your mother and I had a bit of a difference in understanding-“ he winced at the understatement- “about how to handle this mess we are in and maybe me coming here was a way to clear the air between us, but-“

He searched his son’s gaze. He needed to make him _understand_.

“But please believe me when I say, that I am still madly in love with your mother and she, by some stroke of luck, seems to love me, too.”

(Here he took a moment to offer thanks to whomever would listen, for that small miracle.)

“And even if that wasn’t the case, which it _is_ , there would be no way in hell I would ever forget about you or not come back to you, alright?”

Towards the end of his little Fingon had sacked against his shoulder and Fingolfin was now combing through the unruly dark curls as he had done so many times before. His son hummed in understanding and underneath his surprisingly calm appearance Fingolfin was crumbling in relief.

They sat quietly for a while, as the competitively motivated violence unfolded on the screen before them.

After a while Fingon’s voice broke the silence:

“Wait, what did you want to say then?”

Mamma mia, Fingolfin thought, here we go again. At least now he knew he seemed to be able to diffuse the situation should he inadvertently cause another emotional rollercoaster. He might as well go for it.

“I just wanted to say that, while you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, I want you and Maedhros to feel comfortable being yourselves in my house and you to know that you don't ever need to hide anything from me, alright?"

At the mention of Maedhros’ name Fingon had shot up from his slumped position so fast he only barely avoided knocking his head against his father’s jaw.

There was a beat of silence, only broken by the rabid screams of the onscreen audience cheering in victory or cursing in defeat of their favoured team, as Fingolfin prepared himself to face his son’s insecurity, misplaced shame, or worse, long awkward silence before - a laugh.

Fingon, who had now collapsed backwards into the couch with his face hidden behind his hands had burst out laughing so hard his shoulders were shaking.

"Oh thank _God_ , I reckoned you'd clicked on but didn't say anything because I didn't want to make you feel weird.”

This evening was really starting to give him emotional whiplash.

Even his neck was beginning to hurt. But that was perhaps just sympathy pain for the battered all-American boy onscreen, who had just unwantedly been thrown into a rather under-rotated somersault.

Yet he could feel his own mouth starting to twitch in response as the room’s emotionally charged atmosphere lifted.

“Are you saying we were both pussyfooting around the topic because neither one of us wanted to make the other uncomfortable talking about it?”

His son only started to laugh harder at that, trying his best to catch his breath for a moment to get the words out:

“Pu- Pussyfooting?? You have spend way too much time in America, Dad.

“I can learn some cool words!”

“That’s not even cool!”

The overly exaggerated expression of exasperation on his son’s shining face, paired with this unexpected release of all his built up anxiety, caused Fingolfin to break into laughter himself.

They only calmed themselves as the game on the television slowly drew to a close. Which unfortunately was also the moment that Maedhros chose to reenter the room, clad only in a bath towel.

To his great bewilderment, father and son immediately collapsed back into laughter.


	3. The fallout of Maedhros and Feanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros comes out to his father in a completely planned and dignified way and everything goes well. At least at first.  
> (And everything would have indeed gone well, had he only been an only child.)

It hadn’t always been like this between them.

Maedhros remembers when he was little, how his father had spun him through the air in their garden, his eyes shining with delight at his young son’s laughter. He remembers how he had built little figurines of all sorts of animals for him and the most intricate toys.

(No low quality, mass produced trash for _his_ children, had been the motto of these days and his father’s horrified face when Celegorm had begged him for one of the colourful plastic lightsabers his friends had donned for Halloween, was still one of Maedhros’ most treasured memories. Mostly because it never failed to make him laugh even a decade after the incident. Of course Feanor had not given in to such a demand and Celegorm’s Christmas present that year had been of a quality that surely would have made George Lucas weep in envy. In fact, Maedhros was quite certain his father would have found a way to built an actual working lightsaber, had his mother not intervened with a stern reminder that, no, he would not gift his 8 year old son a potentially deadly weapon. No matter how cute he would look with it.)

But that was beside the point now.

The point now was that, as he had grown so had his father’s expectations of him and so, unfortunately, also had his attraction to his very handsome, very kind and all in all just very wonderful and definitely not Feanor approved step-cousin.

Maedhros wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t going to tell his father _who_ he was seeing. He was just going to say “Hey Dad, guess what. I’m gay.” and leave it at that.

Or to be realistic, there would probably be more stammering and sweating involved but as his father liked to say “confidence is the first step to success”.

There had also been a more opportune moment in his plan than his father forging a remarkably sharp knife but, oh well. He would take what he could get.

So when his father asks him to bring him the water basin a rather loud and squeaky “ _I’m gay_ ” is probably not the return he had expected.

The heavy hammer, now in free-fall after having been dropped in a moment of shock, narrowly misses Feanor’s feet as he jumps back from his workbench with a hiss.

He turns around to Maedhros in a flash of motion, ready to snap at him for startling him into nearly smashing his own toes in, before the words sink in and he stops.

“Oh.” he only says, taking in the boy before him that suddenly looks like a very tall, very ginger deer caught in the headlights.

“Well.” he starts again, unsure what to say to _that._

If he is quite honest with himself, he is not entirely surprised. For someone as widely adored and admired as his firstborn son, his lack of interest in any of the pretty girls throwing themselves at him had always been a bit suspicious. Especially to old Mrs. Lobelia from the corner store, who liked to pretend to be half-deaf and yet knew more about what his children had been up to in the past week than he himself did. And she never let him forget that either.

Feanor knows, though he will never admit it out loud, that expressing his emotions had always been a bit of a weak spot of his. Well, except for anger that is. He really was rather good at expressing that.

But his son is still frozen to the spot and doesn’t seem to be willing, or able, to continue the conversation so he has to at least try and say _something_ reassuring.

“Alright. That’s …fine.”That should be good enough, right?

But Maedhros still doesn’t move.

Alright, so he might be more at loss here than he first thought.

Maybe it would be better not to make a big deal out of it. Show his boy nothing has changed between them, which is true after all. Nothing really _has_ changed. Except that he now knows for sure what type of person makes his son feel and do things that he tries his hardest not to think about either way.

And Maedhros has never been one for great emotional speeches anyway, not like his brother, so that might just be the right way to go about it.

As an added bonus, he considers, he himself will also be able to avoid a further test of his emotional intelligence.

Yes, that seemed like a solid plan.

So he picks up the hammer and then holds out his arm expectantly, waiting for his son to hand him the basin.

Maedhros only stares at him with confusion in his eyes.

Well, better that than the mortification from before, Feanor thinks and starts to clarify.

“Your preferences surely does not hinder your ability to bring it.”

Had Maedhros not been so overwhelmed by this whole situation he probably would have considered, that there was no way on earth or beyond Feanor would _ever_ use the phrase “Bring it.” as an offer for a hug, and that he most likely meant for him to _actually bring him something_ , which would have led to him remembering the earlier request for the water basin still standing empty in a corner behind him, which in turn would have led him to correctly interpret the outstretched arm as a physical reinforcement of that request.

At this moment however, he does not consider any of this and instead hesitantly steps forward one step and then, upon his father motioning for him to hurry up, very quickly a second one before throwing his arms around his father.

He realises his mistake a second later.

By then however it is too late and Maedhros feels his face slowly but surely turning the colour of his hair as his brain screams at him and itself to find an explanation for his action that will somehow preserve what is left of his dignity.

His father stands very stiff against him as Maedhros is already plotting the fastest way to the door and then the nearest volcano to throw himself into in embarrassment.

Before he can go through with his plan however, the most unexpected thing happens.

His father relaxes in his grip.

And not only that. As he is about to let go, he suddenly feels two warm hands on his back and strong arm tightening around him to prevent him from drawing away.

Just like that, what little might have been left of the rational part of his brain evaporates and all the uncertainty he did not even know he had built up inside him, is released like hot air from a balloon.

For the first time in years he allows himself to crumble into his father’s warm embrace.

They stay like this longer than either of them will afterwards admit and when they finally draw apart, with an only slightly awkward pat on the shoulder from Feanor’s side, both of their eyes are very bright. Not that they will acknowledge that. Ever.

And it would have stayed this way, with both father and son quietly pleased with how they handled the situation, had it not been for an unnoticed bleach-blonde arrival, leaning in the doorframe and happily crunching down on an apple, while enthusiastically drawing all the wrong conclusions from the scene before him.

For a few more seconds Maedhros is blissfully plotting how, over the course of the next few weeks or months, he can slowly bring his father to warm up to the idea of Fingon being his friend and eventually more, before:

“So he finally told you he is sleeping with Fingon?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

The silence that follows somehow feels sharper than the edge of the really, rather impressively sharp half-finished knife before him and he manages about half a step towards the door before his way is blocked by a slowly reddening Feanor.

**_“_** You **_WHAT?”_**

On second thought, maybe the volcano wasn’t such a bad idea after all. And while he was at it, maybe he could throw Celegorm in there as well.


	4. A very Finwean Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a newly completed chaos family comes together for Christmas and everyone more or less enjoys themselves.  
> In other words: Maedhros has definitely turned hot, Maglor is an undervalued musical talent, Celegorm and Aredhel are a menace and Feanor only came to brag about his kids. Also Mahtan and Finwe are useless granddads.
> 
> (Set some years before the first two chapters.)

It is Indis who answers the door.

“Nerdanel, Feanor, boys! It is so lovely to see you, come in!” There is a bright smile on her face and she leans in to hug her red haired “daughter-in-law” as she is greeted by a chorus of voices.

“Indis.”Feanor, who is standing next to his wife and holding the twins in their car seat only states and gives a non-commital nod before stepping into the house to find his father, Curufin trailing close behind him.

“Curvo, say hello to grandma Indis.“ Nerdanel catches the her son by his shirt and the little boy turns around to fix a serious stare on the woman mentioned.

”Indis,” he then nods and turns to follow his father.

Nerdanel throws her arms up in exasperation.

“I’m sorry about him, lately he just keeps imitating Feanor in everything he does. It’s a bit unnerving really, but I hope it’s just a phase.” She ushers the rest of her children through the door into the entrance hall.

“Is everyone here already? I’m so sorry we are late but _someone”_ \- at that she throws a look over her shoulder at the four boys standing there “couldn’t find the note sheets for the new Christmas carol he composed and refused to leave without it.”

“It’s not my fault Huan keeps taking my things!” a voice protests, immediately followed by another, higher voice chiming in.

“Can you stop blaming my dog for everything? First you say he ate your stupid song and now he suddenly took it? Huan doesn’t care for dumb paper!”

“It’s not dumb, it’s art!”

“Yeah that’s what I said.”

 _“Boys!”_ Nerdanel sharply interrupts before turning back to Indis with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, they get excited when we let them out of the house. I hope it’s alright we brought the dog? I’m afraid Celegorm doesn’t go anywhere without him these days, but he’s quiet well-behaved and we can leave him outside in the garden if you’d prefer.”

“Nooo, muuum! We can’t just leave him outside, he’s just a puppy he’ll freeze!”

Indis very careful keeps her smile from slipping as she eyes the shaggy grey “puppy”, whose back nearly reaches Celegorm’s head and whose large innocent eyes are now devotedly staring up at her. She is suddenly very glad she has waited with replacing the carpet until the New Year.

“He can come inside of course. There’s enough space in the hall.”

Nerdanel smiles at her gratefully and faces her son.

“But I’m sure Huan will be happier exploring the garden with you. And I’m sure Aredhel will want to come as well, why don’t you go find her?”

At the mention of his favourite cousin Celegorm’s face lights up and before anyone can say another word, he has already sped off towards the living room from where the voices of the rest of the family can be heard, Huan tight on his heels.

‘Well so much for staying in the hall’, Indis muses resignedly.

“That’s two down.” Nerdanel smiles conspiratorially at her “mother-in-law”, as Aredhel’s delighted shouts can be heard from the the other room.

They arrive to a living room filled with chatter and it stays that way for a good while.

* * *

“How did you manage to convince him to come?”

“Oh, it was surprisingly easy. I think even Feanor wanted to see the whole family together.”

_(“Why on earth would you think I’d want to see this whole ‘family’ together?”_

_“Do you remember how you used to complain that Finarfin and Earwen had the same amount of kids as us?”_

_“Of course I do, it was infuriating.”_

_“Well, the way I see it, nobody will have anymore children. The family is complete and not only do we have the most children, we can also claim the oldest as well as the youngest grandchild, not to mention the only set of twins. Don’t you think it’s time to show everyone who won this game?”_

_“Nerdanel. Darling. Have I told you how much I love you lately?”)_

“Oh my, Maedhros! You certainly have gotten tall!” , Finarfin interrupts his conversation with Fingon to greet his approaching nephew.

Maedhros smiles at his uncle. He hasn’t. He is exactly the same height as he had been the last time they’d seen each other. He is however aware of the fact that, while the last time he had looked a lot like carrot topped string bean, by now he had finally ( _finally_ ) started to fill out, his form becoming broader and his proportions adjusting to his new height.

The effect was near intimidating, he had been told.

Fingon, who had had his back turned to him until now, suddenly starts choking on his drink.

‘Oh no.’, Maedhros thinks, while patting his cousin’s back ‘I hope I didn’t startle him too much!’

Finarfin smirks.

In the opposite corner of the room, Maglor and Finrod have taken it upon themselves to secure the holiday cheer by singing carols and taking turns in improvising silly rhymes about their family or, on some occations, the household items around them, all set to popular Christmas tunes.

Nerdanel, Anaire and Earwen watch them with a fond smile.

“His voice finally stopped cracking“, Nerdanel whispers to them. “And now we cannot stop him from singing about _everything_. I think he feels he needs to make up for these last few months.”

Unfortunately their merry making is soon interrupted by an infamous duo and a faithful dog, with melted snow in their clothes and fur.

“Did you know that you look like that bard from Asterix and Obelix, when you play that little harp?”

“ _What? I do not-_ “

“You should get a ukulele. Also small but much more fun,” Aredhel now chimes in.

“Yeah see, girls love ukuleles. Maybe that way you could finally get some.”

“Finally get- Celegorm, you are _literally 11!”_

 _“…_ so?” his brother replies with Aredhel next to him nodding gravely.

Maglor turns away disturbed.

“So, Finwe. That wee pool table you have there was cute but are ya up for a real game?”

“Chess?”

“Poker.”

“Interesting choice, Mahtan. I didn’t know you were so intend on losing all of your money today.”

“A will strip you of this house.”

Their wives only exchange a long suffering look and the details of their bank accounts.

“Fingolfin, how is the family? I heard Turgon tried for class president. What an ambitious plan! Now of course, Maedhros was even younger when he became class president for the first time, I remember because it was also the year he won the debate competition. I’m sure he could give your son some pointers so he’ll be successful next year.”

“… Thank you. What a kind offer.”

“And how are Fingon’s violin lessons going? Is he still so opposed to practising?”

“No, he’s actually-“

“We can never get Maglor to put his instruments away! Such a talent, that boy. A real Mozart his teacher at the conservatory says- oh that’s right, you probably don’t know yet- he is taking special classes at the conservatory now, they are very interested in him.

“How lovely.”

“Ah and I don’t think I have told you about-“

Fingolfin grips his champagne flute slightly tighter.

It stays that way until it is time for the dinner preparations.

* * *

Finarfin and Earwen in a moment of wisdom, have volunteered to take the younger children outside as to, as they’ve put it, ‘not overcrowd the kitchen’. Indis follows them, after her offers to help with the cooking have been forcefully declined with the explanation, that she and Finwe have already provided their house so it would only be fair they wouldn’t have to take care of the food. She should go outside with her son and daughter-in-law and her four grandchildren and just relax until dinner is ready.

Indis isn’t sure how much she will be able to relax while her family is being let lose in her kitchen.

But right now all seems to be going well. The house is standing and there is no sign of smoke or shouting coming through the opened windows of the kitchen (yet).

On the contrary. Out here this Christmas seems as enchanting and peaceful as if it had fallen straight off the pages of a children’s story book. The air is crisp and cold but the sun is shining on the freshly fallen snow, covering the ground in glittering white.

“Isn’t it wonderful’, Indis says to her youngest son as she loops her arm through his. “to finally have a white Christmas again?”

“It really is.” Finarfin answers, ”I think the last time we had this much snow I was still a boy.” He pauses and smiles slightly. “Who knows? Maybe it really _is_ a special year and we’ll get through this family celebration without some larger catastrophe.”

“Don’t jinx it.”, his wife laughs as she gently fixes Argon’s yellow, woollen hat before sending him off to play with the others.

They sip their hot drinks and let the winter sun shine on their faces, while they watch Angrod and Aegnor build a rather crooked looking snowman and Orodreth teach his little cousin how to make snow angels.

“Catastrophe or not”, Finarfin states, stealing a sip of mulled wine from his wife’s cup, “I’m glad we chose to go outside. It’s so nice and quiet here. Who knows what’s going on inside right now.”

Earwen hums in agreement.

* * *

_“PUT DOWN THE CARVING KNIFE - that’s not what it’s for!”_

(Nerdanel’s loud voice fills the kitchen and drifts out into the garden, where Indis pours more brandy into her tea with a sigh.)

“Brother I-“ - Fingolfin starts. He didn’t think there _was_ a wrong way to cut potatoes when he had offered to help, but apparently he had been wrong.

“STEP-brother”

“Why do I still try…”

_“Huan’s on the tableeee,”_ Curufin interrupts with a wail, tugging at Feanor’s trouser leg, completely unimpressed by the carving knife his father is currently wielding in Fingolfin’s direction.

He is right. Somehow the large, grey dog had managed to place both of his front paws between the soup pots without being noticed and was currently attempting to shove the lid off one of them with his big snout.

“Huan, _down!”_ , Feanor bellows, carving knife mercifully forgotten for the moment.

Pressed together in a corner, two teenagers are watching the chaos unfold.

“…Do I smell smoke?” Maedhros, who has strategically positioned himself next to the fire extinguisher, suddenly asks.

“Haha probably,” Fingon laughs before stage whispering: “It’s because I’m smoking hot to- _Yup that’s a fire_!”

Maedhros, deciding the fire extinguisher would probably be overkill and ruin all the still edible food currently cooking on the stove, quickly throws a kitchen towel over the burning sauce pot of pudding his father had been stirring, before Fingolfin’s unacceptable way of cutting potatoes had caught his attention.

“Wow, you really have great reflexes,” Fingon only marvels.

In that moment Anaire enters, her eyes searching the kitchen.

“Has anyone seen Turgon?” she asks. “I haven’t seen him for the last half an hour and nobody seems to know where he went.”

“Have you checked the bathroom, mum? Maybe he fell into the toilet and can’t get out again.” Aredhel’s little face is the picture of innocence and Anaire narrows her eyes in suspicion.

(Caranthir knows perfectly well that Turgon is still locked in the upstairs broom cupboard but he won’t tell. He still hasn’t quite forgiven him for calling his lego city ‘impractical’ earlier.)

“… I think the turkey’s done?” Celegorm quickly changes the topic. Not just to avert attention from Turgon’s unknown whereabouts, but also because he has just remembered he had been supposed to remind his mother about the turkey in the oven.

Half-an hour ago.

When he opens the oven door he is greeted by a cloud of smoke, before his mother quickly shoves him to the side and slams the door shut again, turning off the oven.

(“So _that’s_ where the smoke came from.”, Fingon comments. “I did think the sauce pan seemed to be too small to cause that smell.”

Maedhros only nods in agreement.)

“…Sorry, mum,” Celegorm mumbles, looking unusually contrite.

Nerdanel only sighs and lightly smacks him over the head with a kitchen towel.

“We’ll see what we can save once it’s cooled down.” she says and adds a muttered “And then your father can channel his perfectionist energy into something useful and fix that timer.”

Maglor approaches his little brother rather smugly, abandoning his post at the salat station.

“I think I should compose a lament for that turkey. How does ‘apsalante’ sound?”

“I will break your harp.”

Finrod inconspicuously puts his phone away. His followers were gonna love this.

* * *

Mahtan and Finwe meanwhile, willingly oblivious to the kitchen's pandemonium, are watching another battlefield on the big screen in the living room, as Wales and Scotland compete in a specially commented replay of last year’s Six Nations.

Finwe skilfully balances his beer mug in one hand, whilst stopping a 3 year old Galadriel from escaping towards the commotion with the other with practised ease, his feet leisurely propped up on the foot rest in front of him.

He thinks there might be some smoke coming from the kitchen and but he does not investigate it further.

After 3 children, 16 grandchildren and a political career he has learned that some things are better not questioned but just accepted.

Mahtan next to him doesn’t seem to notice, or mind. Or perhaps the man is so accustomed to his forge that smoke feels like fresh air to him.

One of the twins has fallen asleep in his grandfather’s arms, while the other is chewing on his thumb and turning his curious eyes to the loud noises behind them.

‘Oh my little one’, Finwe thinks, ‘soon you, too will be used to this.”

“So I’ve been thinking about investing in that brewery, like you said”, he says out loud instead.

* * *

The evening comes, the food is served and to everyone’s surprise a good amount of it is even edible, so that in the end everyone is full and content as they sit themselves down in front of the fire.

Maglor, who has been waiting all day to perform the piece he has made especially for this evening, seizes the opportunity and pulls out his harp. He positions himself in front of the fireplace- not only to command the audiences full attention, but also because he thinks the soft glow from behind him builds a rather expressive atmosphere- and begins to play.

It is a long, intricate piece, nearly ancient sounding with the clear notes he coaxes from his harp strings carefully interwoven with the soft melody sung in his newly deepened, but still enchanting voice. He doesn’t know if everyone is listening as attentively as he hopes but at least everyone is staying silent throughout his playing, and as the last note fades and he looks up he can see his parents’ faces shining with pride.

He smiles.

Then a voice pipes up:

“Cool. Now can you play Wonderwall?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this art piece that I cannot stop thinking about. (Do yourself a favour and check it out.) https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/alyruko/84296645436
> 
> Hey, guess who's alive. (Or am I? At this point I'm not really sure.) Yeah so exam season is fun...especially when you have hospital practice at the same time. (Sleep? I don't know her.) But this chapter has been sitting nearly finished in my files for way too long, so I finally had to put it together. It's still a bit of a mess tbh but I feel like this is as good as it's gonna get for the moment. 
> 
> Next chapter will probably also be a bit of a wait but once finals are over and done and I will finally have time to put together all those random snippets and scenes I have written out in fits of desperation induced procrastination... boy will there be content. 
> 
> Have a lovely day!
> 
> (Also don't judge me for writing about Christmas in June, there was a turkey involved and neither I nor "my" Finweans are American enough for Thanksgiving.)


	5. The exclusive celebration of being the eldest child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The firstborn children (+ Maglor) of our three favourite families have a bit of an afterparty, following a family event. Banter, dramatics, sappiness, and terrible musical renditions ensue, while the beanbag claims another victim.
> 
> (To avoid any confusion: This is set some time after the first two oneshots, so everyone's in their 20s and Maedhros and Fingon are officially a couple. Yay.)

_It is the night after a big event at Finwe and Indis’ residence, which is now entirely occupied by their large family, all of them now asleep._

_All of them?_

_Not quite. In one of the tastefully decorated rooms, lit only by a desk lamp now, a small group of indomitable youths still hold out against the sweet temptation of sleep._

The door opens quietly and a shadow slips in, nearly tripping over a pair of long legs stretched out on the floor.

“For God’s sake, Nelyo, fold up your appendages!” the shadow, now revealed as a young, dark haired man, hisses. “I could have dropped the bottle!”

“Yeah Nelyo, you can’t just leave those _long_ _appendages_ of yours out, there could be children around,” another voice echoes, slightly slurred and belonging to a blond figure currently drowning in the pink beanbag on the floor.

A pillow smacks it straight into the face.

“I will strangle you with those long appendages of mine, you pervert,” the owner of the offending limbs replies, his cheeks red from both alcohol and embarrassment, while his cousin only smirks.

“Kinky.” He spits out a feather that has found its way out of the pillow and into his mouth. “Does Fingon know you’re into that?”

A dark head shoots up. “Hm? Yes, I’m awake!” Fingon calls out, trying to lift himself up from his boyfriend’s shoulder and sit upright, only to slip, unbalance, and fall into said boyfriends lap. Not that he was complaining, Maedhros had really, _really_ nice eyes. They were all sparkly and warm and…nice… His whole face was nice. And his nose was really cute, and all those freckles and-  
“Uh…thank you?”

Fingon stops with his arm extended upwards, halfway towards booping said freckled nose. “…I said that aloud didn’t I?”

Maglor, who by now has climbed over his brother’s legs, drops himself unceremoniously over the couch arms onto the seat cushions with a resounding thud.

“You two are so disgustingly cute I want to gouge my eyes out,” he moans and kicks off the slipper from his left foot, promptly hitting and toppling an empty beer bottle on the ground.

“Keep it down, will you?” his brother hisses. “You’re gonna wake up the whole house!”

Maglor waves him off in a dramatic gesture, slowly letting the second slipper fall towards the floor.

“ _Please._ Grandpa Finwe’s bedroom is far away and dad and uncle Fingolfin wore themselves out trying to be civil around each other all evening. They’ll sleep like the dead. Besides, we’re all adults in here, what are they gonna do?”

“I dare you to repeat that to your father’s face when he shows up in the doorway, burning with the righteous fury of the sleep deprived…” Fingon mumbles and shudders.

“ _My_ dad probably knows anyway,” sounds from the beanbag again and Maedhros hums in agreement. “True,” he says and pauses, staring off somewhere towards the unlit Tiffany ceiling lamp hanging over their heads like an absurdly expensive omen of doom. “He knows everything…How does he _do_ that, though?”

Finrod shrugs.

“Dunno, probably psychic or something.”

“Or he just bugs all of our places like a normal person.” Fingon offers, and stretches over Maedhros’ shoulder to reach the bag of octopus shaped sour worms, intently ignoring Maglor’s disgusted gaze.  
The red-headed man, currently half-buried under his boyfriend, only sighs fondly. “Darling, I think we need to talk about your interpretation of normal.”

“It’s cool though,” Finrod continues, “he doesn’t care. Insists he’s a _cool dad_ and all.”There is a rustling sound from the beanbag as his occupant tries to change his position. “Aw shit, I don’t think I’ll ever get out of this.”

“You know what? The psychic theory kinda makes sense,” Maglor talks over him, still lying on his back on the sofa cushions. His legs are draped over each other on the armrest, the right lazily tapping a rhythm on the left.

“If it’s hereditary that would explain Artanis.”

“Hey, no mocking my little sister!”

“I’m not mocking her, I’m just 87% sure she can read minds and it’s creeping me out.”

“Also, he’s afraid she might hear him,” Maedhros adds seriously.

“We all know how scary 12 year old girls can be,” Fingon continues, wearing the most somber face a person might achieve with half a sour gummy octopus hanging from their mouth. They both proceed to break out into identical grins.

“Urgh, I despise you all,” Maglor moans from the couch, his hands thrown into the air. “I risk my neck sneaking back to my room and share my alcohol with you and this-“

“You just said it wasn’t dangerous since no one could tell us what to do.”

“- _and this_ is what I get? Mockery? Ridicule? _Disrespect?_ ”

“All right, all right.” Maedhros holds up his hands, trying very hard to suppress his laughter. “We apologise for belittling your fear of our youngest cousin, will you please share that bottle of yours with us?”

From his elevated position Maglor measures his brother and cousins for an overlong moment out of narrowed eyes, before finally deciding to show mercy on their empty glasses. With a flourish he reaches into his silk robe and pulls out a bottle half-filled with suspiciously green liquid.

Maedhros groans, mentally resigning himself to his fate, but Finrod protests loudly.

“Absinthe?” he tries to sit up. “Again?” Another try of verticalisation fails and he finally gives up, sinking back into the pink prison of his own making. ”When will you learn to drink Tequila like a normal person!”

“What’s all this ‘normal person’ talk today, have you met yourselves?”

“Whatever you say, Oscar Wilde.”

Maglor points an accusing finger at his cousin. “If you wanted us to drink Tequila, you shouldn’t have had half the bottle by yourself.”

Finrod hums a few beats of something that sounds suspiciously like the Tequila song, before letting out an overlong sigh.

“Urgh fine, fine. But we’re gonna drink that liquid toothpaste we’re gonna do it right at least. Fingon, there’s sugar and a lighter in that drawer over there,” he waves his hand haphazardly, “You’re sitting closest to it.”

Mentioned groans in protest of the ordered exertion, but complies anyway, stretching himself once again, this time into the opposite direction towards the nightstand. He rummages around the drawer for a bit before finally fishing out the desired objects.

“Heart shaped. Cute,” he says, before tossing them towards the bean bag, where they connect with skin and facial bones with a soft _clack_ and a muffled shriek of protest.

“Oops. My bad”

“Wait.” Maglor has half sat up now. “How did you even know I was gonna bring Absinthe, I didn’t tell you!”

Finrod scoffs, rubbing his pale forehead where a pale pink spot marks the site of impact.

“Please, I’ve known you for 22 years now. You’re incredibly predictable, with that whole 19th century starving poet aesthetic you have going on…”

(“Psychic.” Fingon mouthes to his boyfriend, while tapping his temple.)

“Also I like to have sweets around when the mood strikes.”

“Sweets?” Maedhros looks horrified, his eyes wide while he stares at his cousin as if seeing him for the first time. “Those are not- Finrod- these are not - your teeth are going to fall out before you’re 30!”

“Wanna bet?”

“What- I- _No_!”

Meanwhile Fingon has managed to collect three empty glasses and a tea cup from his immediate surrounding and set them up before him. Maglor slides the bottle towards him.

“Will you do us the honours?”

Fingon attempts a bow from his sitting position and nearly falls onto his face.

With great concentration he manages to pour some of the green liquid into the glasses (and cup). Then he pauses.

“We don’t have-“

“Drawer,” comes from the beanbag and indeed, after another round of rummaging, Fingonemerges victorious with four teaspoons. It takes him about six tries to balance one on each of the glasses (and cup), each holding an absinth soaked sugar cube. As he tries to reach for the lighter however, he is stopped by Maedhros, who had been watching his boyfriend’s display of incoordination with both fond amusement and growing horror.

“Finno…I love you but let’s- let’s keep the fire hazard to a minimum, alright?”

Fingon shrugs and complies, handing the lighter over and snuggling into his boyfriend’s side.

“You know what these cubes remind me of?” he asks, while said boyfriend lights the first sugar cube on fire.

“No?”

A muffled sound is heard, as Maglor shoves his face into the couch cushions and slams his hands over his ears, muttering “Pleasedon’tsaiypleasedon’tsayitpleasedon’tsait” into the dark blue velvet over and over again.

“You.”

(“Oh God,” comes a muffled groan from the couch.)

“Sweet, but also flaming hot.”

Maedhros blushes and there’s a dopey smile on his face as he moves on to the second sugar cube.

“And also really white and infused with alcohol,” Finrod drawls from the beanbag, immediately ruining the atmosphere.

The redhead shoots him a look. “You’re drinking out of the teacup for that.”

Once the sugar has finally melted and been mixed into the drink, and everyone has been handed their assigned glass (or cup), Maedhros speaks up again in a wistful voice. “This is nice you know, just the four of us, like old times.”

Fingon raises his glass at that. “A toast to the firstborns.”

A teacup follows. “Assigned babysitters at birth.”

“Parenting experiment and bearer of unrealistic expectations,” Maedhros concludes.

“And then there’s Maglor,” Finrod smirks.

“HEY!”

“To be fair, in your family it needs two to fill that position.” Fingon chimes in and Maedhros nods sagely.

“True. What would I have done without you, brother.”

“Developed even more crippling anxiety and inability to relax and enjoy yourself without wondering about the possible, if highly unlikely, ramifications of letting your guard down?”

For a few seconds Maedhros seems like he wants to retort but then he just shrugs. “Fair,” he says, and Fingon pats his head and reaches up to place a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

The action is promptly answered by a groan from the beanbag. “Urgh, why are you two so adorable, you make me feel so lonely.”

A pause.

“Hey, Maglor…“

“Finrod, for the last time, I’m not gonna make out with you.”

“Come on, I’m a great kisser.”

“I’d hope so, with all the practice you seem to be getting.”

“I’ve had no complaints before.”

“And I will not be adding to this family’s dysfunction.”

“What are you, straight?”

“There’s with the disrespect again.”

“Children, please.” Maedhros interrupts. “Let’s all calm down for a second.” His glass is half empty and there’s a slight sway to his movements, as he tries to sit up straighter and hold up his hands.

“Finrod, I know you’re a horny drunk but please refr-refrain from hitting on my baby brother in front of me and Maglor-“

“Who’re you calling baby I’m literally only a year younger than you.”

“Maglor, please stop making it seem like we’re the reason for this dysfunctional family.”

Finrod giggles.

“Ok dad,” he replies.

Maedhros throws a sugar cube at him and pours another round.

About three rounds later the bottle is dangerously devoid of liquid, Maglor is missing a sock, and the time for comprehensive conversation has clearly passed.

“Hey…hey Finrod, Finrod!” comes from the couch.

“What??”

Barely suppressed giggles follow.“You - d’you - do you know what I’ve wanted to know for a while?”

“…what?”

A pause. A deep inhale. And then. _“What’s the meaning of Stoneheeenge???”_

Maedhros hides his face in Fingon’s shoulder, muttering something that sounds like “not this again” while his boyfriend only laughs until he starts to hiccup. Finrod excitedly tries to sit up in his beanbag and continue the tune. “It’s killing me that no one knows-”

“The only thing that’s killing me is you two.” Maedhros protests again, louder this time, interrupting his cousin’s enthusiastic attempts at melody.

Fingon taps his arm excitedly. “Hey Mae- _hic_ \- what’s- _hic_ \- _damnit_ what’s that- _hic_ \- car you’re driving- _hic-_ driving again?”

His boyfriend looks at him blankly, confusion clear on his flushed face.

“Why- an old Honda, you know that, you’ve driven it before!”

“Yeah- hic- but what k-hic- what kind?”

“A Civic wh-“

 _“Drive a C_ _ivic, drive a Civic, drive a Civiiiic!”_ Maglor and Finrod’s combined voices assault his ears from both sides, followed by Fingon’s triumphant: _“A car you c-hic-can trust!!”_ and a crash as Maglor falls from the couch in laughter.

Madhros lets his head fall back onto the bed behind him in defeat. “I can’t believe I am assoc- _associating_ with any of you,” he says, but there’s a smile tugging on his lips and he tightens his grip on Fingon’s shoulder.

“It’s because you looove us,” Maglor croons and blows a kiss into his brother’s directions, who grins and lightly kicks his shin.

“Ah!” the so abused cries out immediately, falling back with his hand on his forehead, his tone and poise a perfect Shakesperian death scene. “Why the violence, brother? Thou art not called Tyelkormo!”

“You guys, you’re literally all insssane,” Finrod declares from the beanbag and the sincere emotion in his voice makes up for the fact he’s slurring his words quite badly now. “…but I lovve you so much. Soo mucch!” He throws out his arms. “I’d hug you all but I physicl- physcall- physicallally cannot get up from thiss.” He moves around a bit to prove his point, achieving a half-seated position at most, before falling back into the pink lump. He shrugs, ready to surrender to his fate, when the air is suddenly knocked out of him by Maglor falling atop of him.

He makes a choked noise that turns into a squeal, once he manages to get his breath back. “Cuddlepile!” he exclaims and the delight in his voice makes Fingon immediately scoot over to join the two, dragging Maedhros behind him.

It does not take long for sleep to finally take them after that.

(When Finarfin comes to wake them the next morning, carrying a tray with four glasses of water and a box of Aspirin, he finds four grown men passed out in various positions on and around a large pink beanbag on the floor. They look content, though perhaps not entirely comfortable. He snaps a photo before putting down the tray and leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he can stall his brothers for a little longer. After all, he still hasn’t told Fingolfin about what _really_ happened to his favourite fountain pen collection.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Finarfin is gonna stir up some shit between Feanor&Fingolfin, so our boys can sleep in a bit longer. Chaotic good icon.  
> Also everyone who didn't know what Maglor and Finrod were singing at the end, please follow this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbyzgeee2mg You can thank me later.
> 
> This has 0% plot and is 100% inspired by real events and me missing having stupid conversations with my friends in the middle of the night and proceeding to make questionable decisions. (Drink responsibly, everyone.)  
> Leave kudos if you’re also tired of everything and comment to tell me if you’re the slutty, sappy or dramatic drunk.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day I guess.


	6. A business proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Caranthir and Haleth have some news and Maglor has a nervous breakdown.
> 
> (Set some years after the last chapter... Everyone is growing up so fast. )

“So what’s new with you two?” Maedhros asked, putting the small plate of biscuits on the table in front of his brother and his brother’s girlfriend. Caranthir was slouched in in his usual sitting position, perched on the front edge of the chair and leaning back as far as possible, while Haleth was facing his side and had her legs draped over his lap.

“Nothing much.” He shrugged and Maedhros nodded, carefully adjusting the tablecloth. “Oh yeah, we’re getting married.”

There was the crash of porcelain hitting tiles from the kitchen, followed by a shriek and a breathless Maglor sliding around the corner.

“ _WHAT??_ ” he exclaimed and Caranthir flinched at his brother’s loud voice.

Maedhros only stared at his younger brother with an open mouth.

“I- you-“ he gaped before catching himself and turning to Haleth. “Um, I mean, _congratulations!_ ”

“Thanks,” she answered and Caranthir only nodded.

There was a moment of silence, in which Maglor watched the scene impatiently, his eyes wandering from his brother to his girlf- _fiancée-_ and back again, his head turning a bit with each look like the eager viewer of a ping pong game and the air becoming more suspenseful with each second, before he couldn’t take it anymore.

_“And????”_ he demanded in a high-pitched voice, throwing out his hands in front of him.

“And what?” Caranthir only asked, his face completely neutral, while Haleth watched her future brother-in-law with raised eyebrows.

“I mean-“ Maglor waved his hands wildly through the air, trying to stress the absolute disbelief of having to ask, not to mention explain his question. “ _Details!_ When did that happen? How?? Was it romantic?? Who asked ? Do you have a date yet? A venue? A guest list? Are you going to invite uncle Fingolfin and if yes, how are you going to keep him and Dad away from each other for a whole day? Wait, have you told Dad yet? And what music are you going to play- no, don’t answer that I will compose something, I think I already have an idea I only need-“

“Maglor, breathe,” Maedhros interrupted his brother, who had been steadily getting more animated and started to look like he was going to faint from sheer excitement alone.

Caranthir shrugged. “Yesterday afternoon, I asked, define romantic, again me-“ his fiancée kicked him at that “- well she kind of did, too but not with so many words, and no to everything else.”

Maglor looked like he was about to combust and Maedhros sighed and addressed the only other reasonable person in the room. “Haleth, please tell us about this proposal before Káno has an aneurysm.”

The curly-haired woman showed mercy at his plea, but took her time shifting into a more comfortable position before speaking. “Well, I was coming home from work yesterday and Moryo was sitting in the living room, scribbling something onto the papers on the presentation board-“

“I wasn’t _scribbling-“_

Haleth ignored him. “So I asked him what he was working on and he said-“

“A business proposal,” her fiancé interjected and she nodded at him, before continuing.

“So I asked him what it was about and he said, and I quote, _us_.”

She paused to reach for a biscuit, while a terrible suspicion was starting to form in Maglor’s eyes.

“So I sat down on the couch and asked him to explain, and he made some very convincing arguments about the economical benefits of marriage, strengthened by a collection of highly detailed graphs, so naturally-“ She bit of the corner of the biscuit. “I agreed.”

“After some follow-up questions of course.” Caranthir supplied.

“Of course.”

Maedhros threw a worried look at Maglor, who looked like he was about to cry.

“I am so sorry,“ he choked out, reaching out for Haleth’s hand over the table.

“Why?” she asked, bewildered. “They were some really nice graphs.” Caranthir nodded in agreement. “Charmingly colourful, while remaining precise and relevant to the point.”

Maglor moaned and Haleth eyed him a bit worriedly.

“There were also pie charts?” she offered and the dark-haired man only buried his head in his hands.

His younger brother rolled his eyes at him.

“Wait,” Maedhros said suddenly, “earlier you told us, she also ‘kind of asked’. What was that about?”

“Oh yeah,” Caranthir somehow leaned back even further in his chair. “When Haleth came home she told me, she got me a t-shirt and wanted me to try it on but I told her I’d do it later, so my proposal came first.”

Maglor peeked warily through his fingers, his voice mistrustful.

“What kind of t-shirt?”

With a proud smirk his brother unzipped his dark hoody, revealing a black shirt underneath.

_My wife is a bitch and I like her SO much_ , the white block letters read and Maedhros broke into laughter, while the happy couple exchanged a casual high-five.

Maglor let his head fall onto the table with dull thud, mumbling something that sounded like “How am I related to you” and pulling on his dark hair.

“I’m so glad you two found each other,” Maedhros stated, patting his despairing brother’s shoulder in sympathy.

* * *

“But the romance!” Maglor repeated once again an hour later, as he followed his brother to the door.

“Marriage shouldn’t be about financial reason, it should be a gesture of proving your love!”

“For the last time, Káno,” Caranthir retorted, handing Haleth her coat. “I do not need to get married to prove my love.” He wrapped his scarf around his neck. “I do however need it to get a tax cut.”

“Also a better mortgage rate and shared Social Security benefits,” his fiancée added.

Maglor sighed.

“Please, for my sake, tell me you have been romantic at least once in your entire relationship.”

“I can be romantic, I’m just not needlessly sentimental!” Caranthir argued, but Maedhros inclined his head, clearly unconvinced.

“If I remember correctly, the last time you tried to be romantic you called Haleth ‘the bane of my existence but in a good way,’ the red-headed man remarked, and his brother turned scarlet.

“So I forgot the word 'blessing', it happens!”

“And honestly that description is just so much funnier,” the described herself butted in.

“I give up,” Maglor groaned. “You deserve each other.”

But despite his words, there were tears in his eyes as he pulled first his brother, and then Haleth into a tight hug. “I am so, so happy for you both. I promise to compose the most beautiful piece of music the world has ever heard for your wedding!”

Caranthir scratched the back of his neck.

“About that…” he started, “we were actually thinking of just going to the courthouse tomorrow and signing the papers there.”

“ _WHAT???_ ” Maglor shrieked for the second time this evening and Maedhros’ jaw dropped once again.

Fortunately for everyone involved, Haleth laughed and smacked her fiancé’s arm.

“Stop torturing your brothers like that,” she said and a grin broke through Caranthir’s serious act.

“I’m just kidding,” he assured them. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Plus Mum and Dad would probably kill me and I have no intention of risking that.”

Maglor grabbed his heart. “You’re a terrible child,” he huffed out and gave his brother an affectionate shove.

The younger man only laughed, his face still blushed as Haleth took his hand and dragged him into the cold evening air behind her, waving, and calling a final goodbye to the two men standing in the small house’s warmly lit hallway.

They watched the pair leave, the night slowly swallowing up their silhouettes, but they didn’t miss the taller figure wrapping his arm around the shorter, and leaning down to place a kiss on the top of her head.

“Not sentimental, my ass,” Maedhros mumbled and Maglor wiped a happy tear from his eye, finally turning around to go back inside.

“Oh but Maglor,” his brother’s voice stayed him. “Grand news or not, you’re replacing that teacup before Finno comes home tomorrow. That’s our good china.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (John Mulaney anyone?)
> 
> Me? Posting a new chapter already? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> You can thank my fucked up mood and inability to sleep properly those last few days for that. When you're unable to focus on anything important and need every molecule of serotonin you can get, you just sometimes need to sit down and whip up a short chapter about your favourite couple. Have I mentioned that I love them? (Also I can finally add the Caranthir/Haleth tag and it brings me joy.)
> 
> Kudos and comments loved and appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a great many stupid ideas and exceedingly dumb headcanons for this (that I myself find disproportionally hilarious) but just in case a great idea comes to you in a dream or on a particularly good trip, that you would like to see here, hit me up on tumblr @goldenvoicedminstrel.
> 
> Cheerio!


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